


3 Sentence Prompt Week - May 2014 [Hannibal NBC]

by whiskeyandspite



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: 3 Sentence fics, A/B/O, Angst, Bad Pick-Up Lines, Body Modification, Dirty Talk, Drabbles, F/M, Implied Cannibalism, Kidfic, Kitchen Sex, M/M, Poker, Red dragon-esque adaptation, Soulmates, Suit Porn, Tattoos, Teasing, Wendigo Sex, chatting up at bars, meeting as children, meeting as teens, will update as I go
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-05-13
Updated: 2014-05-14
Packaged: 2018-01-24 14:38:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 18
Words: 6,418
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1608731
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whiskeyandspite/pseuds/whiskeyandspite
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I opened up 3 sentence and mini drabble prompts on my <a href="http://sun-to-sirius.tumblr.com/ask">Tumblr</a> over a week in May, and I've had some requests to post the results on AO3!</p><p>
  <i>Apologies for the mass posting they will be up in 2s and 3s from tomorrow!</i>
</p><p>Every drabble gets its own chapter, so this will be a monster of a thing. Requests are STILL OPEN until May 16th.</p><p>If this turns out to be popular I may open a week every month :)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A/B/O + Kidfic - prompted by asha-volca-nova

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _"ABO and Kidfic! Now now now!_

_Harder._

That was always the word, always the deeply moaned plea as he arched his back and presented himself, clawing at the sheets, the wall, the floor, whatever surface he had been pinned to when it got too much, when the scent filled my nostrils and overwhelmed my brain.

And harder I would always give him, spreading him wider still, pressing my teeth to his neck, his shoulders, scenting him so he would never forget - not that he could - that this was mine to give him, mine to take away just as easily… if he made too much noise and woke our daughter up.


	2. FredSquared - requested by hotdadwillgraham

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _"Anything Chilton / Freddie please_ "

"I told you, Miss Lounds, I can read people," Chilton grins, tilts his head, leans back in his seat and regards the woman in front of him from under hooded eyes, "Pair. High cards."

Freddie flutters her eyes, ducks her head, her lips twisting into a small smile, the picture of innocence if Chilton didn’t know better.

"You only read what people let you read, Frederick," she tells him, tone fond, before glancing up and holding up her own cards, the two needed for a perfect royal flush. She licks her lips.

"Strip."


	3. Hannigram as children - requested by hughdancysexual

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _"Will and Hannibal meet when they were kids. Please please please!"_

A scraped knee is nothing new, so Will treats it that way - brushes the worst of the gravel and dust out of it and watches the blood ooze dark and dirty down his leg and into his sock.

Gross.

When he looks up, he meets dark eyes, wide and concerned, that flick from his own to the wound on his leg and back up again. The new kid. Just a little older than Will, maybe 7, maybe 8. Will grins, watches the boy’s brows furrow at the expression before returning it softly. Will ducks his head.

"Wanna play doctor?" he asks.


	4. Reverse-verse (Nice Work If You Can Get It) - requested by tumbleweedforyou

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _❝ Since you guys were so awesome with Nice Work If You Can Get It, how about another mob AU with a bit of a reversal. Hannibal is an undercover agent and Will is the mob head's son whom he knows he reeeaaaally shouldn't get involved with... (but you know how these things happen) ❞_
> 
> Original fic this was based on can be found [here](http://archiveofourown.org/series/53118)

He’s temptation in Armani, a sylph, dangerous as he is beautiful.

Hannibal had resisted, had kept his eyes away, on the books, kept his mind on his assignment, did everything in his power to not to just… not… when all the boy did was insinuate himself, twist, bend, arch in the most perfect way that reminded the agent just how forbidden he was.

And then Will had stepped closer, hoisted himself up on Hannibal’s desk, on top of his papers and reports, and set his legs on either side of Hannibal, tilted against the arms of his chair.

"You want me." he says, voice soft, teasing, elbows against his spread knees. Hannibal swallows.

"Your father -"

"Is blind in his old age." Will muses quietly, clicks his tongue and sets one pristine shoe against the center of Hannibal’s chest when he moves to get up. "Doesn’t see the viper in his nest. A fed right under his nose."

Hannibal pales, Will’s smile widens.

"It’s not my place to tell him," he reassures, "He’s always taught me that in our family we own our mistakes. He brought you in, trusted you… his failing. Not mine." he grins.

“I just want to see what that mouth of yours can do when it’s not kissing his ass.” Will laughs, the sound sliding smooth and warm straight where Hannibal doesn’t need it, “But you are more than welcome to kiss mine. In fact… you should. Work your way up.”

Hannibal just watches him, meets Will’s sly expression with his own - lost, nervous, and underneath it all beyond pleased with this turn of events. Without a word, he closes his eyes, brings a warm palm up to hold Will’s calf, and turns his head to kiss his leg through the fabric of his suit.

Above him, Will bites his lip.


	5. Hannigram as schoolmates - requested by loki-shags-tony

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _"Preppyteen!Hannibal and hipster!Will Graham as schoolmates: who would make the first move? thank you~ ❞_

Hannibal walks slowly, words quiet and rhythmic as he works the youngest class through their exercises at the bar. Most are little girls, though one or two boys have made their way to the class. They seem happy enough once they’re there, once they leave they don their jeans over their tights and pretend they were anywhere but here.

"Fourth position." he murmurs, watches the kids move to adjust, before guiding his eyes to the tallest and by far the most prominent member of the after school class.

Will watches the girl on front of him and tries to emulate the position. The attempt is clumsy and amusing, and Hannibal tilts his head, smug, to give Will a long, hot once-over in his borrowed clothes.

Well… he had wanted to make amends. _I’ll do anything_ really did open the floor to options.

"Fourth position, Mr Graham." Hannibal repeats, stopping just behind him, raising his eyebrows in a neutral expression when Will glowers before catching himself against the bar with a quietly adjusted curse. The girl in front of him turns to shush him and he snorts.

"This is impossible," he murmurs, head down at his feet again as Hannibal draws his hands over his shoulders to straighten them, then down his body, down his legs, to position them how they should be.

"Then you’ll practice." he tells him, eyes narrowing in a smile before he plucks the band shirt Will wears with careful, deft fingers, "And dress appropriately for my class next time."


	6. Bodymod (tattoos) - requested by mrsuial

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _❝ My wish is something Body-mod related. Either Will or Hannibal get a tattoo or piercing (for reasons) and I would like to see how the other reacts to it. ❞_

"I told you not to forget your scars," Hannibal murmurs, tracing the jagged, raised scar tissue over Will’s stomach as the other lies prone, eyes open and brows furrowed, mouth pulled in a thin line, "And you have covered yours."

Will swallows, lifts his head just enough to duck it to look, to watch Hannibal’s fingers splay from the scar itself to the design atop it - a black stag, fur shifting smoothly to feather at the flanks, head raised back in a howl, the antlers just skimming the scar itself - the suggestion that they had rend it there.

"I didn’t," he says softly, waits for Hannibal to look up, "I immortalized it. I made sure I knew and remembered that my past was real."

For a moment, neither speak. Then Hannibal lowers his head to draw parted lips over the scar, still just a touch more sensitive than the skin around it, before tracing the intricate animal with his tongue.


	7. Will is a tailor Hannibal is his client - requested by hannibalistictendency

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _❝ How about a hannigram AU where Will is a local suit tailor and Hannibal is his new customer :) <3 ❞_

He does not expect to find a tailor in Louisiana, especially not at short notice, and certainly not of quality. The fact that Hannibal needs this at all is humiliating, but alas, without a suit he doesn’t feel like himself, can’t conduct his business properly. And he does have to spend a week longer at the conference than expected.

In short, he’s desperate.

The man is shorter than he is, with a mop of curls that look in desperate need of a trim - or a rough tug so Hannibal can see those incredible eyes - and glasses that should not make anyone look attractive. Yet there he stands, Will Graham, with rough hands and a tape measure around his neck, and appraises Hannibal in a way very few people dare.

"Gray," he says at length, brows furrowed as though he’s looking through Hannibal, past him to something entirely different. He blinks, Hannibal blinks back.

"Excuse me?"

"Gray check. Blue lining perhaps. Hemming certainly. You may need new shoes." Will presses his lips together lightly before meeting Hannibal’s eyes. "I can have it done by Wednesday."

Hannibal frowns, shakes his head, preparing to argue, to explain - as though to a child - that when he enters a shop he makes the demands, he explains his needs and he expects them met, when Will Graham walks closer and looks at him over the rims of his glasses.

"You will wear it." he says, lips working not to smile, "And I will make it worth your money, Mr Lecter." finally he allows the expression to soften to genuine amusement. "So much so, you will be back for another. On the stool please, I need the measurement.s."

And that’s all Hannibal hears on the matter, feels himself silenced by the sheer tenacity of the younger man in front of him.

Within a month he’s back, knocking gentle knuckles against the cheap mosquito-net door, meeting those smug blue eyes with his own pleased expression. Will lets him in, drapes the tape measure around his neck and tugs him further into the shop.

Certainly worth the money.


	8. Brownham based on "Undressed" - requested by watson-sighs-and-tuts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _❝ JESUS IT'S THE TACKIEST THE MOST OVERUSED PROMPT AFTER COFFEE SHOP AU ALSO it's Brownham in my head won't it mess with your jam babu?? Back in the days I've been kinda killing Kim Cesarion's 'Undressed'(yes we all have our guilty pleasures musical or others we are deeply ashamed of later on)all JESUS CHRIST WHAT A GLORIOUS BROWNHAM PROMPT FOR PRESMUT OR STEAMY FOREPLAY(healing canon angst)with Matt finding Will in some bar and thinking thoughts from the lyrics maybe even doing the deeds skjfhskd ❞_

"Should cut you off, Brown,"

"Just gimme another fucken drink, man, alright?"

The man regards him but doesn’t deny him. He can’t really, the money’s on the table and Matthew isn’t actually drunk. Yet. It’s just been a fucken hard week and he can afford a drink or twenty on a Thursday evening. He thinks, absently, that it’s Friday somewhere.

Around him the evening’s revelers are just starting to find their rhythm. Those who had spent the day are slowly filtering out and those in for the night have yet to fully wake up to it. He’s in the middle, purgatory of sorts, and it’s almost fitting with how the rest of his life is going.

He accepts the drink when it’s shoved his way and raises two fingers in a half-hearted salute in thanks.

It’s four drinks later - he’s losing count of how many he’s had in general, though - when he hears it. Somehow, miraculously over the horrific music and the trilling giggling that’s coming at him from the other direction, he hears a voice pitched low asking for a whiskey, dirty.

It’s that word that catches him.

Dirty. The vowels dragged in a low, pleasing growl. Not from around here, and motherfucken exquisite.

The appearance matches the voice, when Matthew looks over. The man is well enough dressed but not dressed up to be out. He seems caught in the same middle ground Matthew is - not a daycrawler, he has a job if those bags under his eyes are anything to go by, and not a clubber - and just as ready to forget about it with alcohol.

He catches Matthew looking and raises an eyebrow in clear question.

Matthew smiles.

It seems almost an eternity before the man’s lips work and he offers the expression back.

Then he takes his drink, ducks his eyes to watch it as he turns away.

Beside him, the girl who has been hanging off of what few words Matthew had given her, pulls him around again and he feels dizzy with the motion. It takes a moment to remember where he is and why and how many drinks he’s had - several, he settles on several.

He turns back to try and find the man from the bar and catches a brief peek at the unruly curls as he makes his way further towards the back wall where he can stand and not be bothered.

Christ, the thoughts that insinuate themselves through Matthew’s mind like cool tendrils of silk. He wants to see those eyes widen, wants to imagine him bent back, throat vulnerable and pale for soft touches and dark bruising.

He doesn’t care, for a moment, if this leads him nowhere but the bathroom to throw up his awkward attempts. He wants that voice again, that rough drawl heavy with both exhaustion and suggestion. Dirty, he’d said. Matthew is all too happy to oblige.

His coordination, he admits, could use some work. But he catches the man’s gaze on him as he makes his way over, calculating and amused, and grins.

"Hi." he manages, resting a hand just over the man’s shoulder, leaning close so his words don’t get lost in the miasma of bass beat and chatter.

He gets nothing more than a raising of an eyebrow, can’t quite catch the man’s gaze the way his glasses are positioned, cutting his vision in half. It can’t be comfortable.

"You look lonely."

The man blinks, brings his drink up to press his lips lightly against the glass before allowing some of the amber liquid through and swallows. The glass catches his bottom lip and tugs it down when he pulls the glass away and Matthew can barely keep it together without saying something stupid.

"Do I?" and that voice again, like velvet over sensitive skin, sharp nails down your back in the most pleasurable way. Matthew’s lips part before he can catch the motion and the man smirks, a gorgeous crooked thing.

"By all means, keep going," he continues, words low and quiet yet somehow Matthew catches every single one. "What else do you see?"

Matthew’s grin returns, a languid thing, his eyes duck down, noticing the slight smudge of liquid where the man had pressed his lips to the glass. For a moment he says nothing, then his arm bends, elbow to the wall now, and he leans close enough to feel the man’s breath against his lips.

"I’m unwrapping you slowly," he murmurs, "One button then another, bit by bit, until you’re prone and open to me." he brings his eyes back up, "Spread." he adds.

There is a moment where he thinks the man will twist away and leave, something in his eyes suggests an emotion Matthew can’t quite read and it worries him. But then there’s just a sigh, a soft moan riding shotgun, and the man tilts his head back just enough, and Matthew can see his eyes.

And his next words render the entire club void: “Do it.”


	9. Hannibal is an idol Will finally gets to meet - requested by anonymous

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _❝ Request for Hannibal as some sort of idol/star/famous person, and Will is a super big fan of him even if he doesn't let it show. Alana gets him a ticket to one of his shows/meet &greet (cuz SHE KNOWS), and Will is sooo happy. Then his idol turns out to be a huge douchenugget and Will's disappointed... but Hannibal isn't because he's found a person that is super duper interesting and *insert some creepy obsessiveness here*. (Bonus for Franklin and Randall somewhere in there!) ❞_

The fact that Alana even knows he likes the band is frightening. Though he supposes it can’t be that difficult to guess when every time she comes over the music is either playing or Will’s busy burying the CDs under piles of newspaper or a dog so she can’t see them.

He guesses one of the dogs must’ve gotten up before he should have.

Regardless, he has the ticket now, from the last show, The last tour. And he can’t believe that a lanyard around his neck suggests he can meet the members. He’d spent the morning flitting between nausea and excitement before settling on the former and forcing himself to drink water till he felt clear again.

Now he is starving, shaking, and grinning like a fool, the residual bass beat still thumping through his veins as he waits outside the stage door.

In front of him, someone’s struck up a conversation, the age old argument of who the best member of the band was and why. As it stood, Franklin was winning.

"His voice, Randall, alright? It’s the voice of angels.”

"It’s not a voice you want murmuring your name though." the boy replies sulkily, tapping away at great speed on his phone. "Though screaming it might work." Will refrains from commenting.

He is, embarrassing as it is to admit to himself, a fan of the bassist, Hannibal Lecter. Along with perhaps the rest of the entire female fanbase.

The man is so refined, quiet, angular cheekbones and piercing eyes and oh Will just needs to meet him and not say something stupid. If he can manage that he’ll call the night not only a success but the best in his life.

-

There are five of them who get to go backstage. One for each member of the band, as it were, though it’s obvious who the fan favourite is. The rest just take it into stride, either sit back and enjoy their downtime before being packed into the truck to go to their hotel or throwing out amusing comments to attempt to rattle Franklin out of his flirting.

Will hovers. He approaches Zeller and Price, compliments both on their amazing skills on the guitar. They’re almost twins in their mannerisms and synchronized way of speaking and finishing each other’s sentences. He’d speculated, with most, on whether their relationship went further than just being bandmates. Even if it doesn’t, they do little to dispell the rumours.

Beverly grins at Will and yanks him into a hug, her loose racerback doing its best to show off all the tattoos that cover her frame, the muscles that drumming brings out.

"You’re adorable," she tells him, drawing a blush on Will’s cheeks so dark he wonders if he can possibly fade into the dark stage and disappear. "You’re probably a Franklin boy aren’t you. Pity. He won’t see past his ego to see you."

"Actually…" Will glances back, over to the corner of the stage where Hannibal sits alone, rolling a cigarette and staring at nothing. One foot up against a speaker, unlaced boots loose, pants fitting him like a glove.

Will turns away only when Bev whistles lowly.

"Sweetie don’t go there. Lecter’s an asshole."

Will blinks. Frowns.

"Just because he’s… he’s not the most known or seen doesn’t make him -"

"No, hun, he’s just genuinely an asshole. He’s not a nice guy." Bev gives him a gentle look. "Just don’t be too disappointed when he proves it to you, that’s all."

-

Will feels exhausted. He feels sick. And more than anything he feels utterly betrayed. His conversation with Hannibal had gone… it hadn’t gone. It had been enough for Will to stand in front of him before the other started. Appearance, demeanor, degrading suggestions of why Will was here and not near the popular members of the group.

Will had turned to go when it was suggested he wasn’t even good enough for a pity fuck, let alone a genuine one.

Now he leans against the wall of the warehouse the group had played in and fiddles with the lanyard.

Months and months, weeks and years of waiting for the chance to meet his idol and it had crashed at his feet like a million shards. He wonders if he should be surprised. No one seemed to live up to expectations. Not his friends, his family, not himself, to himself. Its a wonder the rest of the band was so lovely, he had expected it all to go to hell.

"Wow you are a desperate cunt aren’t you." the voice is low, still sends the most amazing shivers up Will’s spine despite his best efforts not to respond. There’s a click of a lighter and then the familiar cloying smoke of something that can only be partially tobacco.

"Considering you’re here to tell me that and I haven’t gone seeking says more about you than me." Will returns. He tries to glower, he tries, but one look at the man, now dressed down in a heavy sweater, dark beanie and torn jeans and he feels weak. The liner is still smudged under his eyes and Will swallows back a whimper.

For a moment, neither speak, then Lecter laughs, a low, pleased noise that rumbles from his chest and draws his lips back in a predatory smirk.

"Brave kitten." he chuckles, and Will blushes darker. "You’re really not scared of me."

"You’re not scary." Will murmurs, but he’s caught now, like a bird in a net, and it’s hard to say anything that isn’t take me and make me remember this forever. “You’re just a prick.”

"Just?" Hannibal’s smile widens, he brings the cigarette back to his lips and sucks. "Rude."

Will swallows. Hannibal parts his lips to release a coil of smoke and flicks the ash.

"I don’t tolerate rudeness. I’ll have to train you out of that."

Will blinks. Hannibal gives him another slow, deliberate once-over, as he had on the stage, but this time his eyes linger, undress Will as they go. When he looks at him again, Will’s heart is pounding tattoos in his throat that are both warnings and pleas, and Hannibal smiles.

"Let’s see if you come on command first.”

And Will can’t help it. He whimpers.


	10. Wendigos - requested by warrioromen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _❝ I need more of the wendigo in my life for copious reasons. Write whatever you want just gimme that sexy beast. Andsexifyouwant *hacks* ❞_

Heat.

The heat is what draws Will’s head back and his lips to part; it’s unbearable.

The beast above him presses closer, sharp teeth against sensitive skin and Will wonders when it will push far enough to break, to bleed him and swallow his soul. But the only cruelty shown him so far has been the deliberate press of the antlers around his wrists, pinning them to the wet ground beneath him to stop him moving, to keep him there and shaking and bloody.

Fledgeling. Newborn. Terrified.

Another brush of teeth, the sharp points of the antlers dig farther into the earth, draw deep trenches and press Will’s hands lower. He moans, eyes wide and shifting, quick, one way then another back and forth to connect stars to their meanings, to understand where he is if he can’t understand when.

Perhaps he lost time.

Heat encloses his cock again and he’s lost, teeth grit and sobbing his release against the cold air that seems to draw no heat from him. He bucks back, tilts his head, and feels the beginnings of a familiar weight, points of a similar ilk that hold him trapped digging into the earth above his head.

He feels lost. He feels sated and alive and wonders if it’s his soul that slips from between his lips when he parts them and breathes steam into the cold night air.


	11. One Cannot Live - requested by perpetualperversions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _❝ 3 sentence promt: "neither can live while the other survives", fandom and pairing of your choice, dazzle me baby ❞_

He realizes it’s the tenderness that dragged this out as long as it’s been going. Tenderness that comes from an understanding, a level of trust so deep that the other person shares your blood, not just the heart that pumps it.

Alana had tried, with them both, in her gentle empathetic way but she had given kindness, at most comfort, but never tenderness. There was a one way understanding between her and Will, a pity there that had grown and festered until it infected any form of tenderness they shared. With Hannibal, neither really know.

He wonders if he even has the capacity. Or wondered, before this.

Sometimes between soul mates there is no love, just necessity. Just a connection so deep you can’t break it if you tried.

Tenderness.

The only person to see them, and to destroy them, in the end.


	12. Leonard Bauer chatting up Will Graham - requested by loshka

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _❝ Hey hey could you do one with sexy lawyer Leonard Bauer being shameless towards Will? :O ❞_

"You know," Leonard murmurs, and Will feels his jaw tighten again - the court is quiet but not silent, a break, and the man will just not shut up. He wishes, for a moment, that his voice didn’t penetrate his mind quite so keenly as it does.

"It’s my job to get you off."

Will could have groaned. Instead he ducks his head and lets his lips work under pretense of thinking.

"Then perhaps," he says at length, as he feels the other sit just measurably closer, enough to feel the heat of him against his side. "Do your job before I allow you the implication."

"Is that a promise, Mr. Graham?"

Will slides his eyes to the other man, barely seeing him from behind the length of his fringe.

"It’s a guarantee." he offers, tone acidic. When the other turns away, grinning and pleased, Will resists rolling his eyes. Hopes to hell the man can think with both heads at once.


	13. Timestamp for "Perhaps" - requested by cherishedsaulie

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _❝ Request: A drabble related to your fic Perhaps. :3 ❞_
> 
>  
> 
> Original fic this is based on can be found [here](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1179593)

Every writer, at one point or another, fears their creation. How could they not? Writing is catharsis, it is an explosion of emotion, a deep understanding of the human condition. And as every human in their condition, characters suffer just as fiercely at the hand of their writer.

That is an inevitability.

Though, perhaps, it is thankfully not inevitable that a writer’s characters come to seek an explanation or revenge.

Alas, that, too, does happen.

"You claim to know me, Mr Graham," Hannibal murmurs. He stands close, knife point down parallel to his thigh. His stance is relaxed, muscles lax, expression one of genuine curiosity. Will swallows. Finds a very conflicting mixture of pride and terror twisting in his gut.

"Better than you know yourself." he offers. In front of him, the killer smiles.

Will knows that smile. he wrote that smile. He knows the way the muscles shift to create it, how that one in particular is utterly genuinely because Hannibal’s eyes have crinkled at the corners, because he’s allowed himself to toss away the mask of professional calm and clarity. He knows, because Hannibal is not a fan of his genuine smile when he has to show his teeth.

"Then tell me," he says, "What I will do next."

Will licks his bottom lip, watching the way Hannibal’s eyes flick to the movement, settle on the motion, meditate. Will knows that too. Knows that when Hannibal lunges at him, not to duck, not to shift away and just let himself be pushed against the cool wall of the man’s kitchen, knife cold and thin against his throat.

Knows to smile wider, to allow his heart to hammer but pay it no mind.

"I don’t die in this story." Will whispers, swallowing, and feeling the trembling of Hannibal’s limbs when he can’t push further, can’t damage Will as he wants to. He licks his lips again.

"So what you do next is step back."

A moment, two. Will feels the blade press closer, pierce skin. Feels the warm trickle of blood pool at the hollow of his collarbone.

Then, slowly, inevitably, Hannibal obeys his words. Fate prewritten. And Will laughs in relief.


	14. Franklin touches greatness - requested by loshka

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _❝ Franklin finally gets to touch greatness: Pavlov. ❞_

Some people had found company here, enough that they seemed almost normal again. Dogs and cats would come and go, lives just as short here as they had been on earth, but there was never one that found a connection with him.

Perhaps he had too high standards, still reeling from the fact that his last attempts at friendship had ended with both his ‘friends’ murderers more interested in each other.

Perhaps his skill was in matchmaking. Perhaps that’s why he was the one that stood between the swarms of furry creatures and assigned them companions, and he was good at it.

But good things come, after all. And he knows, immediately, that the little brown piglet shrieking and wriggling in his little coat, is meant for him. It’s fate. The little buddy had died the same way he had, had died in the arms of the person they had seen as their ultimate idol. Protector, partner, friend.

Well.

So Franklin picks him up, feels the little creature adjust to lie still against him, and smiles.

"Hey buddy," he murmurs. And in his arms, the little piglet closes its eyes, content.


	15. Will asks Hannibal on a romantic date - requested by granpappy-winchester

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _❝ Prompt: Will asking Hannibal out on a romantic date. ❞_

For all Will knows, Hannibal could be allergic to flowers. He doesn’t need his first and most likely only attempt to ask the man on a date to end in hay-fever and an awkward parting. He’d barely been able to gather the courage to ask the first time.

No.

Flowers were out.

Besides, Hannibal Lecter was not a man to be wooed lightly, he wasn’t an easy conquest. Will wonders, still, if he had only agreed to this because it was inherently impossible for the man to be rude. It went against his very nature.

He thinks, then, that if this is just one date, one chance, that he might as well make the effort.

Hannibal is on time, not presumptuous enough to arrive early, too polite to arrive late. And Will is still just barely getting started. He hadn’t quite calculated the preparation time of their meal to include the work it would need and effort required before he could set it in the oven.

Thus, he opens the door in a loose shirt, three buttons undone, a wide smile on his face, and his glasses in his loose slippery fingers.

"Good evening," he says, watching Hannibal’s pupils widen just barely at the sight of him. He sniffs quietly and moves to wipe his glasses against his shirt. "I’m just in the middle of making dinner."

He doesn’t quite get a chance to tell the man what it is. He supposes, as he’s bent backwards over the counter, Hannibal’s lips against his throat, a murmur appreciative and gentle vibrating to this cones, that the offer of dinner was enough.


	16. Will and Hannibal caught in the kitchen - requested by hannimads

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _❝ Prompt: Hannibal and Will getting caught having sex in Hannibal's kitchen! ❞_

To say it’s unexpected is an understatement.

One moment Will’s fingers are clawing, snagging in the expensive fabric of Hannibal’s shirt, skidding over the metal countertop he’s lying on - which, by the way, is bloody freezing - and the next there’s a crash, a curse, and he wonders if he’s lost time again or happened to be in two places at once.

Just beyond the kitchen arch stands a boy, no older than seventeen, acne around his mouth and down one cheek, almost stereotypically, with braces. He’s in a uniform of some kind, related to the organic grocery down the road from Hannibal’s house that Will knows is open late. What he doesn’t know, is why the boy is there, why he’s standing stock still staring at what should really be an intimate moment between two men fucking each other senseless on the counter.

Above Will, Hannibal makes a very displeased sound, hips shuddering against Will drawing another brief gasp from him and pulling stars behind his eyes at the sensation.

"Rude." he murmurs.

From the corridor comes the sound of bags dropping and quick steps running back towards the door.

Hannibal ducks his head against Will’s chest and murmurs something in Lithuanian Will is fairly certain he understands by implication alone. When he pulls out, Will whimpers in annoyance.

With a brief kiss, Hannibal presses Will back to the counter when he tries to get up to follow.

"Will only be a moment."

Will snorts.

"Can’t believe you get your food delivered."

Hannibal smiles, a crooked, amused thing, and adjusts his pants once he’s done them up.

"You always complained I don’t do fast food." he reminds him, glancing up. then, with the grace of someone not just interrupted mid coitus, Hannibal takes off after the delivery boy.

Will presses a hand to his face and laughs.


	17. Hannibal lecter's bad pick-up lines - requested by tumbleweedforyou

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _How about something based on:[this](http://imaginehanniballecter.tumblr.com/post/84687648924/imagine-hannibal-lecter-using-really-shitty)?_
> 
>  
> 
> Yes, how about that XD

There is a heavy shroud of mystery surrounding Hannibal Lecter. The man is put together, a smart man, one who rarely smiles but when he does… it’s enough to melt hearts and make knees turn to jelly.

Of course there would be rumours as to why he was single. Someone like that would certainly have enough attention to get his pick of anyone he desired.

Yet he seemed to have his eyes set solely on Will Graham, just as Will’s eyes were set solely and resolutely in the opposite direction. As mysterious as Hannibal was for his bachelorhood, it was unsurprising that Will avoided relationships.

And yet, because fate needs her entertainment somewhere, an opportunity arose for the two of them to be in a room together for something other than an appointment. Waiting for Jack, in fact, to return with a file he wanted both of their opinions on.

Will kept his eyes to the window, glasses set against his eyes as normal, to cut anyone in half who attempted to look his way. The Shrike was getting to him, not letting him sleep, drawing shivers from him despite being covered in blankets or dogs or both, when he slept.

He ignores Hannibal even when the man clears his throat, even when he leans to rest his arm against the desk in front of them.

But it’s somewhat hard to ignore him when the man’s lips part, and instead of his usual pretentious predictions or uncomfortably accurate psychoanalyses, comes:

"Do you live on a chicken farm? ‘Cause you sure know how to raise a cock."

Will blinks. Blinks again. And slowly turns his head to look at the doctor in utter disbelief.

Shockingly, the man looks entirely too pleased with himself. And oddly… hopeful?

Will doesn’t deem it worthy of a reply. Hannibal tries again.

"That shirt is very becoming on you. Then again, if I were on your chest, I’d be cumming on you too."

"What. The hell." Will’s eyes narrow. The smile Lecter wears slowly slides off his face, replaced by a look of puppy-like confusion. "What is wrong with you?"

"I was trying to get your attention."

"By acting like a pre-adolescent boy with a joke book?"

Hannibal looks offended. And for a brief, tiny moment, Will wonders if this is really the way he asks people out. It would certainly explain why he’s single. It suddenly becomes too hard not to laugh and Will masks it as a cough, pressing the back of his hand to his lips to hide the smile. He’s fairly sure it translates, though, in the way his eyes crease.

"It’s gotten your attention." Hannibal responds quietly. And again Will has to wonder if he’s the best actor in the world or the most clueless, helpless man in a Zegna suit.

"Has it ever worked before?" Will asks after a pause, hand down again and smile pushed back behind a false frown of indifference. Hannibal shrugs, purses his lips.

"Once."

"Once?"

The doctor looks away, draws a hand over his face with a look caught between confusion and curiosity. Will presses the tip of his tongue to his upper lip.

"Alright." he says finally, "Try me. The one that worked. Try me."

Hannibal glances over, meets Will’s eyes when he raises his head enough to allow it, and huffs a laugh. He sits back, pulls out his wallet and a coin from within.

"If I filp a coin what are my chances of getting head?" he asks, glancing at Will, waiting. The other fights a smile, fails, and closes his eyes with a soft snort.

"About as lucky as you are to get fucked." he tells him honestly. Hannibal grins, expression strangely open and for a moment, Will returns it.

"Shall I flip it?" Hannibal asks softly.

At that moment, Jack returns, carrying two manila folders that he sets in front of both of them. Discreetly, Hannibal tosses the coin when Jack turns to take his seat.

Will tries to keep a straight face when the doctor slides it across the table to him.

Tails.


	18. NBC Hannigram in a Red Dragon setting - requested by infinitedomain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _❝ NBC Hannigram as Red Dragon chained up Hannibal scaring the shit out of Will while he tries to get help on Dolarhyde. Will trying not to show Hanni how scared he is and... other feelings he is trying to hide but possibly failing miserably and fully aware that they only have half an hour in there. That guard can just fall out a window. Fuck that guy."_

It’s the way the man carries himself that makes the gray jumpsuit look like an expensive three-piece Anderson & Sheppard. And Will knows he’s keenly aware of who’s outside the door before the guards even let him in.

 _Stay outside the red line_ , he’d been told. He nods. He won’t need to be told again.

It’s been years, many spent waking in a cold sweat in terror and the worst kind of guilt as his stomach heaves and wound pulls taut in pain. Years of seeking the depths of a whiskey bottle for answers and comfort. Boat motors. Dogs. A change in climate.

He hates the heat. He misses the cold forests of Wolf Trap more than he will ever admit.

The door buzzes closed behind him and Will feels his entire body tighten, tense in fear and the most nauseating kind of anticipation. He hasn’t had Lecter’s gaze on him in quite this way for a long time. But he remembers it sitting like a caress against his skin, under his clothes, against his bones.

He takes the steps needed to get close enough.

It should be gratifying to see Hannibal this way, arms tight behind his back where he won’t be able to break free, even with all his cleverness. But he never needed words to bring Will to where he needed him - close, trusting, believing, intimate…

"Hello, Will." his voice, that’s changed now. Nothing like the calm, smooth rhythm of the days Will used to come to him for advice, for a drink, for —

He sounds different. As though hysteria is bubbling under the surface of every sound and syllable.

"You said you would only see me here." Will reminds him, his voice not quite his own either. He feels his heart migrate to his throat when Hannibal smiles.

"Yes. I do so rarely get to enjoy time outside of the glass box you kindly provided me with. I thought I would share the experience."

Without warning, Hannibal moves. Like a predator, the killer he is. The line tethering him to the oval run pulls taut. He stands just a breath away from Will, and the younger man turns his head, brows furrowed, jaw working to swallow down all the fears that threaten to burst from him like a flood.

His heart tattoos words against his throat. _Run_ and _step away_ and _please, oh god please…_

"Are you afraid, Will?" and for a moment, his voice is the same, that soft purr that he reserved only for Will, only when he was barely awake and too-warm and watching early morning shadows play over Hannibal’s face, relaxed in pleasure.

"I need your help on a case," Will whispers, opening his eyes and turning back. They’re close. So close. "You said you would listen."

Hannibal smiles, a wide thing that makes him look deranged, when the most frightening thing is he is the most sane person Will knows.

"I did say I would." he agrees, stepping back and seeming to lose all interest in Will until the other starts walking at his side as he sets off on his sad oval track within a fully monitored room. A far cry from the house in Baltimore. A far cry from everything. Will wonders, briefly, if Hannibal misses it at all. If he has the capacity to miss.

Will opens the folder, hands shaking until he forces them still, elbows at his sides, pressed hard enough to feel his ribs hurt with it. Before he can start, Hannibal interrupts him.

"Dinner," he says, giving Will a glance from the corner of his eye. "Perhaps dinner would be a better setting."

"I’m here to talk about the case." Will reminds him, panic and nausea and a bitter longing tugging at his stomach, setting it to storm.

"And you can talk very well, Will, for the half hour we have here together, but it will be a very long and very one-sided conversation unless you take dinner with me." the last words are deliberate, needling, though his expression shows nothing beyond the faint neutrality he wears so well.

Will swallows. Presses his lips together, his elbows harder to his sides.

"Why would I agree, Hannibal?"

"Because your conscience will eat you up," he pops the ‘p’, a harsh sound, and allows his lips to tilt, "If you don’t get the answers you want from me and more people die."

Will swallows, inaudible but thick and stifling, suffocating. But he nods, Just once.

"This evening then." Hannibal says, smile genuine for just a moment, as Will turns to go, the tremble betrayed by the movement of the paper in his hands. "And Will?"

The man stops.

"Do wear a suit. You know I like to see you cut a silhouette."

-

Outside, Will returns the folder to his satchel, sets it to the floor and peels his jacket from his back, fabric dark with the absolute terror he had sweated against it.


End file.
